An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

A small river winds its way through in its banks carves a path started a long time ago thousands of years rock worn away gradually changing its course. it eventually  joins the bigger  tributaries flows past  shores that  never stay the same despite the illusion of complete stillness. Then branch out  into distant lands until it reaches  the vast ocean

Too much to do  too little time  so many  appointments  the calendar  on the wall  the clock  is ticking away  the seconds  and the minutes  of a life without pause  no time to breathe  or pause and reflect  just keep on going because the days pass by faster and faster the older you get.

Orange and purple yellow and red  duskglow the light fades as  the seconds and minutes pass  the fireflies  come out  to bid the day  farewell and  the nightingale  sings a dirge  to the setting sun.

Be grateful  for what you have Count your blessings The sun's light in the sky the wind in your hair the food on your plate from the choicest steaks to the blandest porridge And the air that you breathe but just possessing the basics  doesn't mean  that you have  to settle  for a substandard  existence  and don't let  anyone convince  you otherwise.

Obfuscate  frustrate cover your tracks  everyone  has their  own opinion  give enough of the situation to gather interest reasonable doubt  no one is really sure  just what really happened  a narrative that makes just enough sense many theories  lots of rumors  but no truth at the end

Bison used  to range freely through the plains  migrating with  the seasons  living in harmony  with the people  of the land who moved with them from place to place only taking enough for survival to ensure the generations to come  until ones who  upset the balance  dominated life  with no regard  for consequences